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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29664573">A Friend in Need</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nomader/pseuds/Nomader'>Nomader</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Partners [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Laramie (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Developing Friendships, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 23:07:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,166</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29664573</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nomader/pseuds/Nomader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>An old friend arrives at the Sherman Relay Station, but for once it is not someone looking for Jess Harper – quite the contrary. Their encounter as two strangers leads on a trail neither of them had expected.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jess Harper/Slim Sherman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Partners [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1255892</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
<a id="_Toc64850254" name="_Toc64850254"></a>1</h1>
<p><a id="_Toc64850252" name="_Toc64850252"></a>“Be slow to fall into friendship; but when thou art in, continue firm and constant.”</p>
<p>Socrates</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The rider came over the crest of the hill and drew his weary mount to a halt. Looking down, he could see the road curving right, then left, before it straightened out on a long slope into the yard of the ranch below. He could see the barn and corrals, the ranch house and, beside it, various outbuildings. A patch of bright green showed where a sizable vegetable garden had been established. A wisp of smoke rose from the chimney of the house and there were chickens scratching about the yard and horses dozing in the corral. All was sleepy and peaceful. A place where a man could be received in friendship and find willing support in his time of need.</p>
<p>So he hoped. It was years since he had topped this hill and looked down at this ranch.</p>
<p>Now though, his eye ran swiftly over the place and leapt almost immediately to the road which led onwards. He hoped to spot at least a faint cloud of dust, the dust of a stagecoach already on its way to Laramie, with a fresh team changed at the relay station below. In vain. The air shimmered clear as a mirror in the noonday heat.</p>
<p>He heaved a deep sigh. He’d been close on the heels of his quarry for so long, but he knew now that, even if he commandeered a fresh horse and rode hell for leather, he would be too late to stop the planned rendezvous in the unsuspecting town ahead. He would have to rethink and right now all he could think of was getting off his horse and quenching his thirst and filling the hollow left by many hours on the trail without eating.</p>
<p>If his welcome was all it had once been, he could fulfil these needs at the house below. At the same time, there was the possibility of enlisting the local knowledge and help of one of the ablest young men to serve in the regiment; one of whom he had heard nothing but good reports. He nudged his mount into action once more and rode slowly down the hill.</p>
<p>In the yard, he slid stiffly to the ground and led his horse over to the water trough. It was one of those moments when, tough and strong as he was, his body chose to let him know exactly its age. The horse drank thirstily, slopping water over its owner’s boots. He, meanwhile, pulled off his hat and ran his sleeve over his sweaty, dusty forehead as he looked around. The place had grown noticeably over the years and was orderly and clean, though some parts could do with a new coat of paint. All was tranquil, silent apart from the vague clucking of the chickens and the slurping of his horse, as if the place had always existed and there had been no struggle to wrest its security from the wilderness. Yet such was his desire to renew the friendship of those hard times, he could almost imagine Matt Sherman, as soon as he clapped eyes on his visitor, striding out of the house, his hand extended in welcome, with the boy – a man now – close at his heels.</p>
<p>He became conscious that there were indeed eyes on him but not from the house.</p>
<p>He turned swiftly, his hand, by some instinct, halfway to his gun.</p>
<p>“Don’t even think about it!” a voice with a distinctly Southern accent growled. “Not if y’ wanna keep that hand whole!” The tone was both confident and commanding. The speaker had no doubt about his skill and accuracy.</p>
<p>In the doorway of the barn he saw a young man standing, his right hand close by the gun which lay against his thigh as if it had grown there. The thumb of his left hand moved gently across his palm. Otherwise he was completely still. Poised for instant action, yet relaxed like a man used to facing gunplay and winning.</p>
<p>Prudent as always, he let his hand fall away from his own gun. At the same time his experienced scrutiny was assessing the young man. A shade under six foot. Lean but hard muscled. Feet planted apart and shoulders squared. Cool, but with a dangerous energy held firmly in check – for the moment. Bright blue eyes narrowed in thought. What he was thinking was anyone’s guess. So was what he might do or say next.</p>
<p>It was therefore almost disconcerting that the next utterance which fell from the firm, unsmiling lips was distinctly conventional.</p>
<p>“Can I help y’?”</p>
<p>“I’m looking for Matthew Sherman.”</p>
<p>The bright blue eyes raked over him. “Why?”</p>
<p>He kept his unwavering gaze on the young man’s face. There was no hostility in it, just a healthy dose of ingrained wariness in dealing with strangers.</p>
<p>“I need his help.”</p>
<p>A frown creased the black brows above the piercing eyes. The young man returned his scrutiny, a swift and thorough appraisal from head to toe. Whether he approved of what he saw was anyone’s guess. He simply observed, “Y’ look like y’ could do with a meal and some coffee.”</p>
<p>It was neither a question nor an invitation. Just a statement.</p>
<p>He nodded.</p>
<p>“Y’d better come inside.”</p>
<p>The young man stalked towards the house without a backward glance. His rear view did nothing to diminish the impression of a lithe and probably lethal capability. It did however confirm the message which his senses had picked up subconsciously that this was also an extremely attractive young man. The close fit of his clothing served only to emphasise this. There was something too about the unconscious arrogance of his walk, a dynamic and sensuous assurance in his steps, which silently shouted ‘rebel’ – and all too likely ‘Rebel’ as well, when his accent was taken into account.</p>
<p>He turned and loosened the cinch of the saddle before hitching his horse in the shade of the barn and near the trough, where it could continue to drink if it needed to. He was not sure yet how long he would be staying, but his mount deserved all the rest and refreshment there was to be had. He hastily splashed some cleansing water over his face and wiped it as clean as he could with a spare bandana. Then he swiftly followed his challenging guide into the house.</p>
<p>Inside, the living room was much as he remembered. Then he spotted the piano over against the far wall. He smiled. Mary always said Jonesy should have a piano and suddenly he felt her warm, welcoming presence right beside him.</p>
<p>There was no-one there, but he could hear voices from beyond the kitchen door.</p>
<p>“Y’ can’t be after more coffee!” An elderly voice was raised in a protest which combined irritation with an equally obvious amusement. “Y’ just drank a pot of it!”</p>
<p>“Stranger needs waterin’, Jonesy, an’ feedin’.”</p>
<p>“Good thing there’s plenty left, then, ain’t it? Even if it ain’t no thanks t’ you!” The voice was affectionate, despite the words, and familiar to his own ears from long ago. “Get in there with the coffee, will y’? I’ll bring the food.”</p>
<p>The kitchen door rattled open, assisted by the deft foot of his guide. The admonition “An’ don’t kick the place down!” floated after him. The young man deposited on the table a tray with coffee pot, milk, sugar and cups, then indicated with a jerk of his head an invitation to sit down.</p>
<p>He did no such thing. The cook would be with them in a few moments. He did not want to waste time getting up from the table when he was so eager to greet this old comrade again. Just being here, in this room, made the years roll away as if they had never been and he felt right now they were both young again.</p>
<p>Through the open door the old man came in, his hands full of another laden tray.</p>
<p>“By all that’s wonderful! Mortimer Cory!”</p>
<p>The old man stopped dead in his tracks, a huge grin lighting up his face. Almost without looking he thrust the tray into the young man’s hands so that he could stretch out both his own in welcome.</p>
<p>“Hell, Jonesy, no-one but my Pa gives me the full handle!”</p>
<p>Jonesy chuckled. “The old boy’s still around?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. Still telling me how to do my job. Probably right, too!”</p>
<p>Jonesy grabbed him in a hug and they slapped each other on the back.</p>
<p>“Mighty good t’ see y’, Mort! Thought you’d forgotten where we were!”</p>
<p>“Yeah. It’s been a long trail which brings me back.”</p>
<p>“Too long.” Jonesy’s cheerful grin faded a little. “A lot’s happened in ten years.”</p>
<p>“I heard,” Mort told him. “News travels, especially about a man like Matthew Sherman.”</p>
<p>“It ain’t true!” Jonesy asserted passionately.</p>
<p>“I know,” Mort assured him. “Anyone who knew Matt would know the stories are fools’ talk!”</p>
<p>“Thanks, Mort! Y’ll know how hard it’s bin, with Mary gone an’ all.”</p>
<p>“You’ll have missed her.” Mort did not elaborate. They were too old friends for him to need to. “Hard raising the young one afterwards, I guess?”</p>
<p>Before Jonesy could answer the door swung open and Andy Sherman bounded into the room, exclaiming as he did so, “It’s eaten! Jonesy, you were wrong. It isn’t pining after all.”</p>
<p>The boy stopped short when he registered Mort Cory’s presence. His eyes went swiftly to Jonesy and then to the young man, who stood silently by the table on which he had deposited the tray of food. His wariness and readiness for action were no whit abated.</p>
<p>“Andy, this is Mr Mortimer Cory. Y’ probably won’t remember him, but he was a good friend t’ y’ ma and pa.”</p>
<p>Andy hesitated, his brow creased in thought. Then he moved forward, his hand outstretched and shook Mort’s heartily. “Yes, I do. You brought a book once for Pa. It was a very long time ago. I was still a little kid then, couldn’t even read but I loved the pictures!” He dashed over to Slim’s bookshelf and pulled out a big volume illustrated with drawings of animals and birds. He clasped it to his heart. “I still read it. It’s my favourite!”</p>
<p>Mort nodded, too moved to speak at once. He cleared his throat and swallowed and finally said, “I remember you were always interested in animal life.”</p>
<p>“You must come out and see my menagerie!” Andy told him enthusiastically, as he replaced the book.</p>
<p>“Steady, Andy!” Jonesy cautioned. “I think Mort might be needin’ somethin’ t’ eat and a deal of coffee first.”</p>
<p>“You mean Jess hasn’t drunk all the coffee yet?” the boy grinned. It was obviously a well-worn joke because Jonesy smiled too.</p>
<p>“Ain’t given him the chance!”</p>
<p>All this while, the young man remained still and quiet as a hunting cougar.</p>
<p>Mort allowed himself to give this ‘Jess’ another thorough looking over. His initial judgement did not change much. Here was a young man of considerable experience, at least part of which was almost certainly reprehensible.  A man who gave very little away save what could be deduced from his appearance. His lean frame and worn clothing suggested no very settled existence. The smooth polished leather of his gun-belt and what was definitely a custom-made gun in the holster, not to mention his challenge in the yard, argued that he could earn a risky dollar or two if he had to. What on earth was he doing apparently living at the Sherman ranch? Had anyone asked themselves if this was safe?</p>
<p>Bright blue eyes met his, unwavering. Then, suddenly, they were veiled by impossibly long, dark lashes. The young man looked down, away to his right side. Mort would probably have been surprised if he had been privy to what was passing through his mind to cause this movement. As it was, he wondered what ‘Jess’ saw in the penetrating scrutiny he had accorded a stranger. Physically, he’d just have seen a man in his middle years, grizzled and worn by time and travel and responsibility, tough strong and able, with shrewd eyes, laughter wrinkles and a firm jaw ... a pleasant enough face, not bad looking in his heyday but with none of the untamed charisma which characterised Jess himself ... and nothing much to show, so he reckoned, of his office or his present quest.</p>
<p>“Jonesy, I bet you ain’t introduced Jess yet!” Andy exclaimed with something proprietary in his tone. Jonesy shook his head apologetically. The boy moved quickly over to the side of the man he clearly trusted. “Mr Cory, this is Jess Harper. He lives with our family and works with Slim.”</p>
<p>Harper dropped a hand on Andy’s shoulder and gave it squeeze of acknowledgement. “Best I get on with the work or y’ brother’s like t’ be regrettin’ he took me on. Good t’ have made y’ acquaintance, Mr. Cory.” He accorded Mort a polite nod and another measuring glance but did not offer to shake hands. Instead he turned towards the kitchen, evidently intending to return to the yard by the back door.</p>
<p>“You know he won’t!” Andy called after him.</p>
<p>“No need t’ provoke him,” the young man said over his shoulder. “He can get as tetchy as a teased snake if the work on that list o’ his ain’t finished come sundown.”</p>
<p>“He’s not going to be back at sundown,” Andy reminded him.</p>
<p>Harper turned to face the boy. His face was still serious and one eyebrow was a little raised. “All the more reason f’ doin’ what y’ supposed t’ be doin’!” he said firmly. “You know that, Andy!”</p>
<p>“Okay, but Slim isn’t here and I should act as host, ‘specially as Mr Cory’s a friend of the family.”</p>
<p>This pronouncement met with a nod of agreement from the young man. One corner of his mouth quirked up in a crooked little smile, which nonetheless transformed his face, revealing unexpected sensitivity and humour. “You do that. I’ll check the rest of y’ animals, an’ if y’ lucky an’ I’ve got time, I’ll soap some o’ the harness for y’.”</p>
<p>“Thanks, Jess!” Andy said fervently, but he was already gone.</p>
<p>Mort has watched this exchange with interest. Andy evidently had good manners and a sense of responsibility. So did the other, which Mort was glad to witness. More to the point, it had revealed that Matt’s eldest son, who’d gone by the name of Slim from an early age, was not at home and not expected back that day. This was another set-back to Mort’s plans.</p>
<p>Jonesy had kept a caring eye on man and boy, but had not made any move to intervene in the decision-making. Now he stirred and urged Mort to the table.</p>
<p>The meal did much to restore Mort’s equilibrium. Andy sat and chatted cheerfully about the life of the relay station, prompted by genuinely interested questions from Mort. Several things became apparent during this conversation. The ranch was struggling financially, not least because of the rumours surrounding Matthew Sherman’s death: old suspicions have long shadows. The franchise from the Overland Stage Company had given the little family some stability, although it had been a hard daily grind since the end of the war. Slim Sherman emerged from this, as Mort would have expected, as a strong resolute young man who was determined to remain true to his father’s dreams.</p>
<p>Once again, Jonesy did not make much contribution, content to let Andy chatter and for Mort to form his own opinions. One thing was abundantly evident in all Andy had to say: he hero-worshiped Jess Harper, a Texan drifter who’d turned up from who knew where before Slim offered him work at the Sherman ranch. Harper did not reappear and presently, Andy excused himself politely on the grounds of not letting his friend do all the chores.</p>
<p>Jonesy watched him go with an approving grin. “Done the boy a power of good, havin’ someone else besides his elder brother around the place.”</p>
<p>“Really?” Mort was surprised, but on second thoughts realised that ability and dependability did not necessarily give a young man key child-rearing skills, especially when the child had developed into a teenager. Mind you, neither would you expect a Rebel drifter to be any better qualified. “How much d’you know about that young man, Jonesy?”</p>
<p>“Enough,” the old man told him. “Seen enough men on the trail t’ know which ones’ll let y’ down.”</p>
<p>Mort nodded, appreciating that Jonesy’s experience was even greater than his own. He reckoned Jess Harper was really none of his business and turned his attention to more pressing matters.</p>
<p>“You’re not expecting Slim back tonight?”</p>
<p>Jonesy shook his head. “He’ll be gone three days in all. Took the stage down t’ report t’ the main office in Denver.”</p>
<p>Mort suppressed a groan. That very stage must have passed him as he rode north. It meant he was going to have to do this on his own as best he could. A pity, since local knowledge could have saved him a deal of time and searching without knowing the territory would be like locating the proverbial needle in a forest-size haystack. As it was, despite Jonesy pressing him to stay the night, he knew he must ride on, following the long trail which had led him so far already.</p>
<p>“When I’ve finished what I have to do, my friend, I’ll make sure to accept your offer. And it will be good to see Slim again.”</p>
<p>“Slim’ll sure be glad t’ see you too,” Jonesy told him. “The boy’s missed his father, though he’d never show it. Missed havin’ someone older ‘n wiser t’ talk things over with.”</p>
<p>Mort grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. “Of course you, my friend, are neither older nor wiser!”</p>
<p>Jonesy shrugged. “I’m always around, like the moon follows the sun. Sometimes it kin help t’ have someone who ain’t plumb in the middle o’ things.”</p>
<p>“Yeah. I see what you mean. I’ll do my best.”</p>
<p>Mort did not really want a reminder of his age and authority at this point, but he shrugged it off mentally as he made his way to the door. In the yard he was surprised to find his gear was neatly deposited on the corral fence. His horse had been rubbed down and given a small feed.</p>
<p>“Not too much,” Andy piped up. “Jess wasn’t sure when you’d be going or how far.”</p>
<p>So Jess Harper had tended to his horse. “I’ll need to thank him,” Mort said, looking round the yard.</p>
<p>“Where is he, Andy?” Jonesy asked.</p>
<p>“Gone to check the stock on the south slopes,” Andy responded promptly. “We set up the team for the afternoon stage before he went. I can manage.”</p>
<p>“Sure y’ can,” Jonesy affirmed. “But we need t’ say goodbye t’ Mort. He ain’t stayin’ this time.”</p>
<p>Their farewells were taken with pressing invitations and promises for a proper visit next time. Then Mort mounted up and turned his faithful and now somewhat refreshed mount towards Laramie. He would see what awaited him there.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
<a id="_Toc64850255" name="_Toc64850255"></a>2</h1><p>Mort’s eyes refused, at first, to open.</p><p>When they did, his whole vision was filled with an unfamiliar young countenance so close to him that he could feel breath mingling between them. It confused him mightily because he was not accustomed to waking up face to face with anything so attractive and tantalizing. The sharp-hewn planes of cheek and jaw, the dark brows and rough-cut hair, suddenly swam into focus and he realised that bright blue eyes were regarding him with considerable anxiety.</p><p>“Mr Cory? Can y’ hear me?”</p><p>Although the gag had been removed, his mouth was too dry to answer. Mort nodded instead and immediately wished he hadn’t.</p><p>A hand rested lightly on his forehead for a moment. “I’ll get y’ some water.”</p><p>Mort reckoned a stiff brandy was called for but couldn’t remember where he was or whether there was any alcohol within reach. He heard the click of a ewer on a cup and the sound of something wet being wrung out in a basin.</p><p>His face, which he realised now was sore and bruised, was gently bathed. The cool cloth was rinsed and rung out and applied to his wrists as well. They were almost numb which was probably as well, since he could not feel the chaffing the ropes had caused. The fact that he had obviously been tied up hand and foot overnight brought the state of his feet to his attention.</p><p>“Boots! Off!” he croaked, wishing he sounded less hoarse and more commanding.</p><p>“Okay, take it easy. I’m gonna help y’ sit up first and take a drink. Then we’ll see to y’ boots.”</p><p>Soon Mort was sitting up and swallowing the cool water gratefully. He was surprised moments later to feel that his feet and ankles were being massaged, gently at first but then with increasing and skilful pressure which restored the circulation, albeit somewhat painfully.</p><p>Finally he was able to take in his surroundings.</p><p>He was in his hotel room.</p><p>Jess Harper was looking after him.</p><p>He didn’t know why.</p><p>Easing his throat with several more gulps of water, he asked: “What happened?”</p><p>One eyebrow raised as Harper stared at him in perplexity. “I was hopin’ you could tell me that.” He shrugged and then went on, “I’m fetchin’ y’ some brandy an’ some breakfast. Don’t move!”</p><p>He laid Mort’s gun close to his hand, before crossing the room to the door. It certainly looked as much the worse for wear as Mort felt. The lock was smashed and the hinges didn’t look too smart either. Harper shrugged again and said casually, “I’ll pay for the door. You just stay put!”</p><p>Left to himself, Mort had no great desire to leap actively to his feet, despite the urgency of his self-imposed task. Instead, ever a man to take thought before he acted, he reviewed what he could remember about how he ended tied up on his own bed and apparently locked in his room.</p><p>He had ridden into Laramie and taken a room at the hotel, that went without saying. Then he’d set about reconnoitring the town, seeking for clues and rumours. The bank was just closing for the day. Discrete enquiries revealed no very large withdrawals by residents, but that was to be expected. The Overland offices were unable to supply any details of arriving passengers; those would be held by the embarking office. The clerk did remember vaguely that four men had alighted and two were locals and two strangers. The whereabouts of the said strangers was open to question, but the clerk merely opined that they would have put up at the hotel or with whoever they were visiting, wouldn’t they? No leads were to be found in the saloon. No rumours of exciting new developments in the town. No talkative strangers peddling dreams to the credulous. That too was to be expected. The ones he was trailing did not operate in such a crude way. Even at the general store, the place most likely to be affected by the nefarious scheme, there was no hint of unease about any projected competition. He did not go to the Sheriff’s office. After all, he had no proof other than his own findings.</p><p>So he had eaten in the saloon, stayed the evening and downed a few beers, without discovering anything further. He had returned to his hotel room and been jumped by at least two men. In the course of the struggle, he had been hit soundly on the back of the neck. He remembered nothing of the night until Harper roused him the next morning.</p><p>“Get this down y’!”</p><p>Jess Harper was now brandishing a large glass of brandy under his nose. Mort took it and swallowed it gratefully. A few minutes later there came a knock at the door and one of the saloon girls brought in a tray of breakfast and a large pot of coffee.</p><p>“Thanks, Sadie.” Harper favoured the girl with a smile, which once again transformed his face and created a charm he was evidently well accustomed to employing.</p><p>“You’re welcome, Jess,” the girl smiled back. “Maybe see you around tonight?” she asked hopefully.</p><p>Harper shook his head. “Single handed right now, Sadie. But I’ll make sure t’ drag Slim in an’ make him relax when he gets back.”</p><p>“Sure - I guess the two of you are better than none!” she remarked as she went away.</p><p>“Eat!”</p><p>The tray was balanced carefully on Mort’s lap. Harper helped them both to coffee, then pulled the room’s only chair up close to the bed. He watched Mort eat without comment, but with the kind of vigilance which suggested serious repercussions if the meal was not totally consumed. Mort was only too happy to oblige. Strangely, the silent attention did not feel uncomfortable.</p><p>When Mort had finished, the young man took the tray from him and deposited it on the dresser. He resumed his seat, but before he could say anything, Mort got his question in first.</p><p>“Why are you here?”</p><p>“Rode in t’ pick up the mail.”</p><p>Mort’s eyebrows raised. This didn’t seem reason enough to make the twelve mile journey there and back.</p><p>“The boss is waitin’ to hear about some new stock he wants t’ buy. Didn’t want to miss the chance, so he told me to check if the letter had arrived, open it for him an’ get on with the sale if need be.”</p><p>Sound reason. Slim obviously trusted his employee enough to rely on him to negotiate a good deal. Reason, but still not enough. Mort raised his eyebrows again.</p><p>“Jonesy asked me to call while I was in town an’ invite y’ to supper. Slim’s expected back tomorrow.”</p><p>Mort sighed. It was like extracting a tooth. “You always bust doors down to invite people to supper?”</p><p>A lightning grin flickered across Harper’s lips. “Only old friends o’ the Sherman family!”</p><p>“I’m grateful!” Mort told him sincerely. “But why?” He had been a lawman all his life and was nothing if not persistent in pursuit of his enquiries.</p><p>“I asked at the hotel desk. They said y’ ain’t come down this mornin’ nor gone early an’ left y’ key. Seemed a mite late to be startin’ the day.”</p><p>“So?”</p><p>“So I knocked an’ hollered. When y’ didn’t answer an’ they ain’t got a spare key, I shot the lock out an’ kicked it in.”</p><p>“And found me gagged, hog-tied and addle-brained.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>There was a little silence. Presently Harper asked, “How’s the head now?”</p><p>Mort shook it cautiously. “Better. Probably going to ache for a bit, though.”</p><p>“Jonesy’d dose y’ with feverfew, but I guess brandy’ll have t’ keep y’ goin’ instead. Now, if y’ head’s clearer, d’y mind tellin’ me what y’ doin’ tied up in a hotel room?”</p><p>His first instinct was that it was none of Harper’s business. He had no idea what connections the young man had beyond the Sherman family, but he was willing to bet at least some of them were outside the law. At the same time, he could not see Harper as being part of the sophisticated and ruthless swindle which he was investigating. And of course Harper had taken some trouble and expense in order to make sure Mort was okay and to rescue him when he wasn’t.</p><p>At length, he said, “Someone recognised me.”</p><p>“No kiddin’? Folk round here know y’ that well?” Despite the joking tone, there was an underlying query still in Harper’s voice.</p><p>“No-one from Laramie. Someone I’ve been chasing for a long time.”</p><p>“Guess they didn’t like y’ gettin’ so close on their tail, then?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“You fit t’ get up now?”</p><p>“Yeah. I’ll wash my face and have some more coffee, then I’ll hit their trail again.” Mort swung his legs over the side of the bed, painfully pulled on his boots and stood up. He found he did not feel too unsteady, so he did as he had just said.</p><p>When Mort had completed his preparations, Harper rose to his feet and tossed Mort’s gun-belt and hat to him.</p><p>“Let’s get goin’. Y’ can fill me in on the way.”</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
<a id="_Toc64850256" name="_Toc64850256"></a>3</h1>
<p>To his dying day Mort Cory would shake his head and laugh at the ease with which he found himself accepting Jess Harper as companion and ally on the trail. In no time at all he was riding alongside this young man who was no more than a stranger to him, a chance acquaintance whose only certain virtue was that the Shermans trusted him. He very soon found he had made a good choice in terms of the skills the man could offer in need.</p>
<p>They had wasted no time in Laramie, once Harper had made sure the expected letter has not in fact arrived and arranged by a swift exchange of cash for the post master’s boy to take it out to the ranch when it did come. Slim himself would be there to receive anything the next day, so no time would be lost in completing this vital transaction. Word was also sent to Jonesy via the morning stage. Thus satisfied that he had fulfilled his obligations, Harper made it clear he was at Mort’s disposal. Mort was reluctantly impressed by his obvious sense of responsibility, scarcely a quality expected in a feckless drifter.</p>
<p>This clearly arose from considering Mort to be a part of the Sherman family. “Y’ got beat up. An’ y’ need back-up. Slim and Jonesy ain’t gonna forgive me if I let y’ go on y’ own after whoever did it. Now tell me who we’re trackin’?”</p>
<p>“A woman and at least two men,” Mort informed him. “They won’t travel together at first, but the couple’ll probably start off in a buggy, so we’d better ask at the Livery.”</p>
<p>Knowing they might be some days on the trail, Mort obtained some essential supplies for them on the way there. Once at the Livery, sure enough, they found his guess was right.</p>
<p>“That nice Mrs Shawcross, who’s been staying with the minister, an’ her husband drove out right early this mornin’. He just got in from Denver yesterday on the afternoon stage an’ I guess they’re lookin’ for a little peace and privacy together,” the Livery owner told them with a twinkle in his eye.</p>
<p>“They could take a hotel room f’ that!” Harper muttered sardonically under his breath.</p>
<p>Mort ignored him and asked, “Which way did they head out of town?”</p>
<p>“East,” the man told them and added, “Y’ might meet up with them on y’ way home, Jess.”</p>
<p>Harper gave a wry grin. “If it’s privacy they’re after, they’ll not be wantin’ to stop for us.”</p>
<p>“We must try,” Mort insisted firmly, rapidly saddling his own horse.</p>
<p>“Trouble?” the Livery owner asked, eyeing Mort’s bruised face curiously.</p>
<p>“Just an urgent message,” Mort replied as he mounted up and joined his companion in the road.</p>
<p>They were riding out of town when Harper remarked, “What kinda message would that be?”</p>
<p>“That I have every intention of arresting them all!” Mort told him shortly.</p>
<p>Surprisingly Harper did not press him for reasons why. Instead he observed unexpectedly, “Y’ ain’t wearin’ y’ badge.”</p>
<p>“No. I have no jurisdiction here,” Mort admitted. “But if I can catch them red-handed, there’s plenty to answer for besides what’s happened in Laramie.”</p>
<p>“Y’ very sure something has happened? There ain’t no sign of disturbance this mornin’.”</p>
<p>“No, there wouldn’t be any sign,” Mort told him grimly. “Not this morning. Not for a few days maybe. That’s why we have time to track them. And yes, if ‘Mrs. Shawcross’ has left town with her husband, they’ve achieved what they came for.”</p>
<p>“Sounds like it ain’t her real name.”</p>
<p>“She’s had a lot of names. They’ve played this game a lot of times.”</p>
<p>He was expecting Harper to demand details of exactly what the game was. Instead he asked, “They gonna abandon the buggy?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. A confed – an accomplice will be waiting with horses for them.”</p>
<p>“Guess they won’t leave it by the roadside. Too obvious. There’s a side trail about a mile further on. Goes a way north, then leads back to the west. Folk sometimes use it as a short cut t’ the Casper road, but most’ll go through town, so there’s less chance of an abandoned buggy bein’ spotted and causin’ talk.”</p>
<p>“Right.” It was the kind of knowledge Mort had hoped Slim would be able to provide, but Harper obviously knew the territory too and fulfilled Mort’s need just as competently. He appreciated the speed with which the young man had worked out the gang’s probable motives and movements. And this without knowing anything else about how they operated. “We’ll take one side of the road each, all the same, just in case they have pulled off sooner.”</p>
<p>Harper turned out to be right. Although the turning itself had been brushed clear, there were definite buggy tracks and fresh droppings about half a mile along the side road. Despite an urge to gallop frantically in pursuit, Mort kept them at a sensible pace so they would not over-ride any other signs now they knew they were heading the right way. So they rode steadily, keeping an alert eye on the surroundings.</p>
<p>It was Harper who spotted the tell-tale traces of the buggy, even though once again a commendable attempt had been made to cover them up. It had been abandoned well off the trail and hidden behind an outcrop of boulders.</p>
<p>“Four horses,” Harper observed after he had gone over the surrounding ground carefully. “I thought you said only two men? Footprints are too messed up to tell anythin’ except that the woman’s definitely with ‘em.”</p>
<p> “I only know two of them beat me up,” Mort said. “If she left with her husband, the other man will have brought two horses for them over here earlier.”</p>
<p>“My guess is that they’re takin’ the buggy horse t’ make it look as if the party’s bigger than it is. Suppose t’ be two people, not four,” Harper suggested. “Anyway, it’ll make them easier to track.”</p>
<p>Mort had ridden on many posses and followed complex trails, but even a short time had shown him Jess Harper was something of an expert at reading racks and very quick to spot clues. He nodded now and said, “They must have at least two or three hours start on us.”</p>
<p>“Nearer four or maybe a bit more, goin’ by the tracks an’ the droppings,” Harper agreed. “Will they have any idea we’re after them?”</p>
<p>Mort shook his head. “They knocked me out and tied me up. If you hadn’t happened along, I’d still be there now.”</p>
<p>“If y’ hadn’t died for lack of a brandy!” Harper grinned, before adding more soberly, “Why didn’t they just kill y’?”</p>
<p>Again Mort shook his head. “That’s not the way they operate. Their whole plan is to become invisible, once they’ve got what they want, not leave inconvenient corpses behind them.”</p>
<p>“So they’ll be aimin’ t’ lie low somewhere,” Harper murmured thoughtfully. His eyes were already on the terrain ahead and he was clearly running over in his mind the course the trail took.</p>
<p>“Yeah, they’ll have arranged a blot hole long before this. Found a line shack or an abandoned ranch somewhere folks aren’t likely to be passing. The third man’ll have got it ready for living in. That’s been their method all along,” Mort explained.</p>
<p>“There’s a couple of places might do,” Harper told him. “An old mining settlement due north, but it’s in pretty bad shape. Bear Jackson has a huntin’ cabin on the other side of the Casper road, well up in the hills, but there’s no knowin’ when he’d be usin’ it. Only other places are line shacks – not many about here. Best we keep followin’ the tracks.”</p>
<p>And follow they did. Fortunately there were no more deviations from the trail and they were able to travel faster. At least, they were until it became plain Mort was struggling and not really fit to go much further. His head had begun to trob with a deep, dull pulse which was almost impossible to ignore. His whole body ached from being constrained in the same position for so many hours and his chaffed wrists still felt sore.</p>
<p>He was swaying in his saddle when Harper halted abruptly and said, “We’re campin’ here.”</p>
<p>“What?” Mort tried to shake himself back to competence. “We can’t give up now.”</p>
<p>“They’ve got a three hour lead at least,” Harper pointed out. “You ain’t fit t’ go fast enough t’ catch up with them. This is the best place t’ camp we’ll find around here. Now get down an’ let’s get comfortable as we can. Y’ll feel better if y’ sleep tonight.”</p>
<p>Without more ado, he began to set up their camp. Mort was surprised at how readily he himself gave in and again climbed down wearily from his horse. Once the fire was going and water put on to boil, he was able to settle back against a boulder and thankfully close his eyes. He scarcely noticed his companion disappearing into the trees.</p>
<p>It was sometime later that Harper reappeared with a bunch of greenery in his hand.</p>
<p>“Feverfew,” he said briefly and set about brewing the crushed leaves in some hot water. Presently he handed Mort a mug of the concoction. When Mort looked dubious, he said sternly, “It’s what Jonesy’d give y’, so get it down an’ chew the leaves!”</p>
<p>A while later they were tucking into rabbit stew, the main ingredient of which Harper had neatly skewered by throwing a knife. Mopped up with bread and washed down with fresh coffee, it satisfied them both and created a more relaxed and mellow atmosphere than Mort had ever imagined possible when he started on his lone quest. He found his attitude to his companion was changing, although he was conscious that he should not be swayed by physical comfort alone. But he had also been tended with the care which he would associate with a trusted friend and in respect of this, he felt he needed to put Jess Harper more fully in the picture.</p>
<p>“I owe you an explanation.”</p>
<p>Harper pulled back his gaze from the watch he was keeping on their surroundings and looked directly at Mort. “No y’ don’t. Up t’ you what y’ wanna share. Ain’t gonna make any difference t’ how I act.”</p>
<p>“I can believe that,” Mort found himself saying. “But you should know who you’re chasing and how they may react if we catch up with them.” His eyes dropped to Harper’s gun. “I don’t want you shooting anyone if we can avoid it.”</p>
<p>Harper nodded with an appreciative grin. “Fair enough. Tell me.”</p>
<p>He reached in his pocket for his tobacco, rolled himself a cigarette and lit up. He settled back against his saddle and his attention centred on Mort.</p>
<p>Mort allowed himself a few minutes to arrange his thoughts, then he said, “It all began nearly four years ago. I had a goddaughter. She married and settled in a little town, much like Laramie. One day, quite unexpectedly, she committed suicide. It was a terrible shock to us all.”</p>
<p>He paused and Harper nodded again, his expression softening from its usual hard competence, just as it had when he looked at Andy.</p>
<p>“There seemed to be no reason,” Mort went on. “Only afterwards, her husband discovered certain jewellery and valuables were missing. When he checked their bank account, she had made withdrawals about which he knew nothing. There was no trace of where the items and the money had gone. It was a complete mystery. It seemed to be Hannah’s reason for committing suicide. No-one knew why she’d needed the money or what for. “</p>
<p>He paused again, then went on, “I didn’t realise it at the time, but I had my first clue when Jim, her husband, said he was surprised that her best friend didn’t come to offer condolences or at least write. This was the woman he would expect to know most about Hannah’s mood and feelings. But she had moved on from the town only a day or two before.”</p>
<p>“Moved on, huh? Leavin’ when she’d got what she wanted?” Harper suggested.</p>
<p>“Yeah. But at the time, I just thought it was an isolated event. Tragic, but very personal and local. It was quite by accident that a while later I arrived at another small township to visit a friend. There had been quite an upheaval in the community, with a number of women handing over family savings and valuables as an investment in a new commercial enterprise in the town. They were all convinced to do this by a woman who, in a remarkably short time, had become the confidant of each of them.”</p>
<p>“So y’ made the connection.”</p>
<p>“No,” Mort admitted. “I thought it was an odd coincidence, but nothing more. That was until the same set of circumstances struck in another town I knew quite well. If it hadn’t been for a violent crime, I would probably never have uncovered the facts. As it was, a man beat his wife to death because she had handed over their savings to a stranger. A stranger, a woman who had quickly become intimate with the female population and was held in high esteem by the ladies.”</p>
<p>Harper shook his head in disbelief. “You sayin’ women are weak? Easily fooled?”</p>
<p>“No,” Mort said emphatically. “It was much more subtle. I didn’t discover the whole swindle until much later, but it worked like this. Each woman had good reason to trust the one who currently calls herself ‘Mrs Shawcross’. Each thought she was helping to establish a new enterprise for the benefit of the community – a store, a hospital, a school, some project worthy of investment. Each of the thought she was the sole supporter of the new initiative. Usually they were offered a share of the profits or benefits from the new business. They’d ‘invest’ sums of money or valuables over a period of time, nothing too large or noticeable in the household budget. It appealed to the desire to increase the family income, a pleasant surprise for their partner. Sometimes they’d persuade their husbands to invest more and that was a bonus to the swindlers. Then ‘Mrs Shawcross’, or whatever she was calling herself, would announce that her husband was coming to complete the deal and they just needed a little more money to finally get it up and running.  Without this last payment, the enterprise would fold. Of course, those who were already deeply involved felt they had to contribute more or lose their whole investment. At this point, having maximised their takings, husband and wife would disappear from town, never to be seen again of course.”</p>
<p>Jess Harper looked puzzled. “An’ no-one ever caught them spendin’ the money?”</p>
<p>Mort shook his head. “That was the clever part. You’d expect them to go on a spending spree in the next big town, but they never do. Instead they vanish off the map – just like they’re doing now. After a week or so, they’ll travel somewhere quite unconnected with the place they’ve swindled, add their gains to their bank account and live in considerable comfort until the money runs out.”</p>
<p>“Leavin’ behind a whole lotta ordinary folk who’ve been ruined!” Harper sounded really angry about this.</p>
<p>“And people dead and marriages destroyed,” Mort added grimly.</p>
<p>“You ain’t married?” The question was unexpected, but Harper went on quickly, “Y’ ain’t been affected personally by all this?”</p>
<p>“Only by my goddaughter,” Mort said sadly.</p>
<p>“An’ by y’ sense of justice! Justice f’ all the folk cheated, not just the ones y’ know.”</p>
<p>The statement shook Mort. His companion must have seen the surprised look on his face, because he continued, “I’ve lived with Slim Sherman. Ain’t no mistakin’ a man who holds justice sacred.”</p>
<p>Again, Mort nodded. It took an honest man to see a passion for justice in others. Harper had once more shown a perception which Mort had not expected.</p>
<p>“So if they disappear every time, how did y’ find out how they were doin’ it?”</p>
<p>Mort smiled. “Through the law. I was sheriff of a small town in Colorado – still am if they’ll have me back. Drifter came through, got drunk, ended up in jail for the night.”</p>
<p>Harper chuckled too. “Sounds kinda familiar.”</p>
<p>“He wasn’t a villain, just down on his luck. We got talking and he told me he’d been a trapper about 100 miles away. Someone had broken into his base cabin, obviously lived there for a while and, when they left, taken all his stock with them. He was trying to track them and had ended up losing everything. But he gave me a vital clue. He said one of the thieves had obviously been a woman.”</p>
<p>“There’s women outlaws,” Harper said with a frown.</p>
<p>“Yeah, but they don’t usually smother themselves with expensive perfume. This one left an empty bottle of some French stuff and a single clue behind her. A piece of jewellery, a brooch which I happened to be able to identify. I bought it off him and returned it to the owner, but I was sure then that this was how the gang managed to keep out of sight.”</p>
<p>“And how come y’re so close on their tail now?” Harper asked.</p>
<p>This time a broad grin lit up Mort’s face. “She took my father for a fool. Must have been short of cash because she doesn’t usually try getting money as a direct gift. She and her followers had been living it up in Denver. Obviously didn’t know Pa was a retired Marshall and tried to charm it out of him on the grounds of her caring for orphans. He put me wise to her, once he realised that I’d come across her activities before. But I don’t get to visit him very often so, by the time we’d exchanged letters about it, she’d already had couple of months start on her next scheme and we didn’t know where. Fortunately, by chance Pa’d seen her husband and could identify him. He was still in Denver, so I decided to follow him when he made his move, but he left while I was involved with another case. It’s been a hard push to catch up, but here I am.”</p>
<p>“Here y’ are with a busted head,” Harper pointed out. “Okay, y’ve got sheriff written all over y’, but either they’ve got real bad consciences – which it don’t seem like – or something tipped them off that they’d got reason t’ want y’ out of the way.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know what, though,” Mort admitted in frustration. “At least they don’t know we’re behind them now.”</p>
<p>“Not the types to set a look-out then?”</p>
<p>“Not if they think they’ve hog-tied the problem and covered their tracks sufficiently. You’ve got sharper eyes than most.”</p>
<p>“I’ll use them t’ keep a look-out for the look-out in the mornin’,” Harper told him with a grin. “An’ I’ll keep an eye open tonight. You get some sleep, ‘cause we’re startin’ early tomorrow!”</p>
<p>“Are we indeed?” Mort asked wryly. He was wondering just who was in charge of this expedition!</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
<a id="_Toc64850257" name="_Toc64850257"></a>4</h1>
<p>Jess Harper was certainly up bright and early, which would have amused his friends at the relay station very much. As a consequence, Mort awoke to the scent of fresh-brewed coffee and woodsmoke. The sun was warm on his face and something was sizzling in a pan. He sat up.</p>
<p>“You sleep?” he asked pointedly.</p>
<p>Harper just concentrated on his cooking, but that little crooked smile made a brief appearance.</p>
<p>“I asked you a question, boy!” Mort said briskly.</p>
<p>The Texan’s head shot up and his eyes narrowed, the blue nonetheless glinting, cold as the north wind over ice, in the early light. “An’ y’ bent on gettin’ an answer!” The statement sounded like a dangerous one – dangerous for Mort, that was.</p>
<p>“I slept well,” the older man said mildly. “I was hoping it wasn’t at your expense. So – did you sleep?”</p>
<p>The young man looked down at the cooking pan, but the smile flickered out and in again. “Enough.”</p>
<p>Mort regarded him in silence.</p>
<p>The silence was such as to demand an explanation. Jess Harper was never very good at responding to demands unless they were for help or certain activities which were definitely not appropriate on this occasion.</p>
<p>“Ain’t no-one lookin’ for us,” he explained reluctantly. “The worst that could happen would be a rat walkin’ off with the remains of our dinner. Human rats’d be too busy diggin’ into their nest.”</p>
<p>“You think they’ll have reached it last night?”</p>
<p>“Any of the places I mentioned, yeah. I guess they won’t wanna be campin’ overnight and travellin’ somewhere further on. Not if they want t’ be invisible. They’ll have got where they want to go.”</p>
<p>“Good!” Mort’s tone was brisk once more. He rolled out of his bedding and got to his feet briskly too, wishing he still had the flexibility of youth with which he was sure his companion had left his bed. By the time he’d stowed his bedding roll and had a brief splash in the nearby stream, a substantial breakfast was ready: fried rabbit, fried eggs which Harper must have found somewhere, and fried bread.</p>
<p>“So we have about three to four hours riding to reach them?” Mort said as he swallowed the last mouthful of egg and bread.</p>
<p>“Yeah. No point in racin’ along and missin’ if they turn off somewhere.”</p>
<p>“Okay. Let’s get going.”</p>
<p>They took up the trail once more and in less than an hour Harper called a halt where a faint track led off to the north of the main trail. It took only a few moments to make sure no-one had ridden that way for a long while: certainly not within the last twenty four hours.</p>
<p>“There is another route into the mines, off the Casper road,” Harper told Mort, “but the buildings ain’t a place y’d want t’ do more than overnight in. Reckon they’re headin’ for somewhere more comfortable.”</p>
<p>“Then let’s find it!” Mort waved a hand to the main trail.</p>
<p>They travelled on, stopping only to investigate a line shack close to the track, which was not a likely possibility as it was too visible to passers by. In any case, the tracks of the four horses continued along the main trail and neither of them was of the opinion that the gang would have the subtlety to use the hoofprints as a decoy leading from their actual whereabouts. Eventually they reached the Casper road. The hoofprints they were following unfortunately became indistinguishable from the general marks of recent traffic.</p>
<p>“What now?” Mort asked, aware that he was coming more and more to rely on the expertise and knowledge of his young companion. Strangely, this did not bother him. He was gradually revising his initial impressions, as any just man would, and, like Slim Sherman, finding that there was both honesty and trust in this Texan drifter.</p>
<p>“We’ve got two choices,” Harper told him with a sardonic grin. He waved a hand up and down the road. “North or south.”</p>
<p>“You don’t say!” Mort retorted. “So? Which is more likely?”</p>
<p>“If they went north, they could find a couple of line shacks well off the road. If they went south, they’re heading for Bear Jackson’s place. The line shacks probably ain’t in use much at this time of year. Jackson heads west into the Rockies about now for the summer season.”</p>
<p>“That, Mr Harper,” Mort told him roundly, “is about as much help as tossing a coin!”</p>
<p>Harper shook his head. “If you’ve gotta choice an’ you’re used t’ fine livin’, then Jackson’s cabin is the best place. The others are pretty rough. And didn’t y’ tell me they’d already stolen from another trapper?”</p>
<p>“True.” Mort considered for a moment, then asked, “You think south’s our best bet?”</p>
<p>“Only one way t’ find out,” Harper replied laconically, “an’ that’s by ridin’ up there.”</p>
<p>They rode south again, but not for long. Soon Harper led them off to the west of the road and they picked up the hoofprints again.</p>
<p>“Unless Bear’s got himself a string o’ horses shod by the same smith, this is them,” Harper remarked as they headed into the wilderness. They were following a narrow winding path, suitable only for riding in single file, so it seemed unlikely the trapper had suddenly branched out into horse-keeping. It was, however, an ideal place for an ambush and although Mort was pretty certain they were unlikely to be threatened with any real violence, he appreciated that Harper, who was in the lead, was proceeding very cautiously. They had been going for over half an hour when he pulled to a halt.</p>
<p>“Ain’t far now,” he said quietly. “Got an idea, if y’ agreeable?”</p>
<p>“Tell me,” Mort requested.</p>
<p>“I know Bear Jackson, been up here with Slim t’ buy skins from him. I’ll just ride in on my own like normal, as if I was buyin’. If Bear’s there, no harm done. If he ain’t an’ they are, I still have an excuse for callin’. Don’t wanna spook them. They’d recognise you straight away but they don’t know me. If y’ give the order, I’ll scout ahead t’ find out what’s goin’ on and report back – sir!” The last word was delivered smartly with a cheeky grin.</p>
<p>Mort considered this plan for several minutes. He could see the point of not simply riding in blind and hoping they could deal with the gang. He didn’t anticipate much resistance, but then you never knew how people might react when threatened and cornered. After all, he had not expected to be hit over the head and tied up either. They might try the same tactic with Harper.</p>
<p>“You realise they could just overpower you, keep you here till they’re ready to move on,” he suggested. The words ‘<em>even kill you</em>’ did not get uttered but they were understood.</p>
<p>Harper looked as though he was weighing his response to this. Mort remembered their encounter at the relay station, the cool competence and physical power which radiated from the young man in the face of the unknown.</p>
<p>“I can hold my own. They won’t be expectin’ trouble an’ I will. If it comes to gunplay, I’ll try not t’ kill anyone.” The words were spoken in simple matter-of-fact confidence without any sense of hubris.</p>
<p>“Okay. But I want to be able to see what’s happening,” Mort told him firmly.</p>
<p>“Y’ can ride in t’ my rescue if need be,” came the reply, delivered with another grin. “Only don’t send in the cavalry too hasty. I can take care of myself.”</p>
<p>“Fair enough,” Mort agreed.</p>
<p>A few yards further on they came to a sheltered mound overlooking the long shallow valley at the head of which Bear Johnson had his cabin. Mort and his mount were positioned beneath the thick overhanging branches of the shielding trees, but with a reasonable view of what was going on below. Harper had remained on the path and, as soon as Mort was settled, rode forward into the open.</p>
<p>At exactly the same moment as Harper emerged from the woods, the door of the cabin opened and a woman came out. This at least answered one question. She was carrying a jug and evidently intended to get some fresh water from the spring close by. She stopped stock still as the rider approached and raised her hand to shade her eyes.</p>
<p>A peal of laughter rang out in the clearing.</p>
<p>“Why, Jess! Who’d have expected to see you up here!”</p>
<p>Mort’s stomach lurched and hit rock bottom. He knew there was a risk the Texan probably had associates who were far from legitimate, but it was horribly ironic that this woman should be one of them.</p>
<p>“Yeah, the last time y’ saw me was through jail bars!” Harper retorted. He sounded half angry, half amused. “Bear Johnson’s obviously got better taste than I thought.”</p>
<p>“Just like you.” The woman’s tone was also amused, but with a hint of something a lot more seductive as well.</p>
<p>“Hope he’s got better sense too!” Harper snorted. “I let y’ run rings round me.”</p>
<p>“The rings were fun, though, weren’t they?” She walked across as she spoke and stood at his stirrup, looking up and smiling.</p>
<p>“Well, it depends now, don’t it?” He was sitting quite still, with that knife-edge focus which he had given to Mort back at the ranch. Even his horse did not twitch so much as a muscle or flick an ear. Mort could see that only the thumb of his left hand gently moved against the palm. There was something menacing in such concentration, but the woman seemed unperturbed.</p>
<p>“It was my money you were gambling with,” she reminded him. “You surely can’t have expected me to bail you out of jail as well as paying for your play?”</p>
<p>“Y’ were payin’ for something an’ I guess y’ got sore when y’ didn’t get it!” The scornful tones made the sneering words a double insult.</p>
<p>“I was paying to see Turner Stephenson lose everything. I got what I wanted,” she told him evenly.</p>
<p>“Guess one of us ended up happy then.”</p>
<p>“Come on now, Jess! You surely aren’t going to hold a grudge for something years ago, are you?” She smiled up ingratiatingly at the man looming above her and tossed back her loose hair. “Why not think what fun it could be now?”</p>
<p>“Depends on who’s payin’ – you know that, Evangeline. You look prosperous enough. I got holes in my shirt.”</p>
<p>“I do not need to know about it!” she laughed again. “But if it’s a new shirt you want, I think we might be able to help you to some more winnings. Come on inside.”</p>
<p>“We?”</p>
<p>“You know I don’t work alone. Ever. Ross is with me and another friend we find useful.”</p>
<p>“An’ you reckon I’d be useful – for a while?”</p>
<p>Evangeline gave him a mocking smile. “You were always a realist. You know nothing’s for ever. But ‘for now’ can be very profitable.”</p>
<p>“So y’ better tell me more!” Harper jumped down from his horse and hitched it in line with the four others; two of them were saddled as if someone had intended to go hunting. He accorded the woman another long look. “Provided y’ partners are prepared t’ share, that is.”</p>
<p>“If you help us make the money, you’ll get your share,” Evangeline promised, and led him into the cabin.</p>
<p>So much for “they don’t know me”!</p>
<p>Mort was thinking furiously. He stood to lose everything he had achieved so far if he made the wrong choice. He could ride down and burst in and try to make the arrests, hoping that Harper had not given him away; if Harper had turned traitor such a course would be foolish indeed, given the young man’s evident skill with a gun. Or he could sit them out and, since he had an excellent over-view of the place, wait to see what happened next; if his presence was known, they’d have to make a break for it soon. Or he could trust Jess Harper to do what he said he would.</p>
<p>Many years in command of men of all sorts, not to mention dealing a good many of untrustworthy criminal characters, gave him insight into his current dilemma. It was this ingrained experience together with his own instinctive intuition which decided Mort.</p>
<p>He was going to trust Jess.</p>
<p>Without actually shifting his physical position he mentally settled down to wait.</p>
<p>And wait.</p>
<p>And wait.</p>
<p>Half an hour passed.</p>
<p>Mort was beginning to wonder whether his decision not to send in the cavalry was a good one. The thought had hardly crossed his mind when the door of the cabin crashed open and two men staggered through it. Jess and another man. They were fighting.</p>
<p>Behind them came the woman and second man. Both folded their arms and leaned back against the cabin wall, prepared presumably to enjoy the fight as long as it lasted. Whose side they were on was a moot point.</p>
<p>It lasted several minutes. The first man was taller, broader and heavier than his lean opponent. This did not seem to give him any advantage. Mort took back his most recent misgivings about not sending in the cavalry. Jess was certainly “holding his own”. In fact, more than. His single-minded ferocity suggested that personal insults had been exchanged but it might just have been his usual fighting technique combined with his anger at the swindle ruining ordinary folk.</p>
<p>His opponent really didn’t have much of a chance. Soon he was flat on his face and Jess was busy binding his hands behind his back with his own belt.</p>
<p>“Jess, what in the world d’you think you’re doing?” Evangeline demanded, stepping towards the pair.</p>
<p>“Deliverin’ justice!”</p>
<p>“You damned betrayer!” she screeched angrily.</p>
<p>“No. You betrayed other women who thought y’ were their friend,” Jess told her coldly as he rose to his feet. “And don’t forget you landed me in jail. If that ain’t betrayal, I don’t know what is.”</p>
<p>She ignored the personal part of his reply as the truth dawned on her. “You’re turning down an easy profit?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. You’ve profited from others in a deal of places. But this time you ain’t. Justice is gonna be served!”</p>
<p>“Not on me!”</p>
<p>Mort saw light gleam on metal as she drew a derringer from her skirt pocket.  Before he could shout a warning, the weapon cracked and simultaneously Jess dived to the side.</p>
<p>So much for ‘I can look after myself”!</p>
<p>Mort was uncertain whether he was hit or not but, as he fell, Jess yelled out an order.</p>
<p>“Sheriff Cory! Cavalry!”</p>
<p>The woman had loosed the nearest horse, sprung astride and spurred it straight onto the path to the main road. At the same time the second man made his break for freedom. First, though, he attempted to kick a man while he was down. This was stupid because Jess simply grabbed his foot and threw him off balance. Mort did not see more of the outcome, for he rode into the path of the fleeing rider, grabbing the bridle and dragging the horse to a halt.</p>
<p>“Justice is hard to escape,” he told her severely. “ ‘The mills of God grind slowly but they grind exceeding small’. I remember Hannah Murray.”</p>
<p>The only answer was a most unwomanly snarl.</p>
<p>By the time he had secured his captive and got them both back to the cabin, things had changed radically. The second man had succeeded in making it to the other saddled horse and, seeing Mort emerging from the path with the gang’s lead player in tow, took off down the valley instead.</p>
<p>In the blink of an eye, Jess was on his own horse and racing after him. Pursuer and pursued thundered away down the valley, following the banks of the stream which watered it. There were only a few seconds between them, but the man was desperate, lashing his horse until it was going flat out. Unfortunately, in his haste to get away, he had forgotten to tighten the cinch. Jess had the faster mount. As he caught up, he simply leaned over and grabbed his quarry. The saddle chose this moment to revolve around the horse. The impetus of their combined speed and weight sent the two flying in a graceful arch.</p>
<p>There was a resounding splash and a fountain of mud rose in the air. They had landed in a particularly boggy stretch of the stream.</p>
<p>It was a while later that Jess herded the man back up the valley to join Mort, who had meanwhile immobilized the other two. Captor and captive were both liberally plastered with mud. It had been a particularly lush bog.</p>
<p>The result was overwhelming.</p>
<p>They stank!</p>
<p>Evangeline, giving vent to her furious rejection of Jess, was not slow in saying so. “It suits your filthy treachery!”</p>
<p>“It ain’t nothing compared with the stink of cheating the innocent! Mud’ll wash off, but not a stain on your soul,” Jess retorted. He turned his back on her, clearly writing off this connection with his past.</p>
<p>Instead he faced Mort and a flicker of a wink veiled one bright blue eye. “Reportin’ back as ordered, sir! Permission to help haul this bunch back t’ Laramie and into the cells they deserve?”</p>
<p>Mort ran his eyes over the dripping wet Texan just as thoroughly as when they had first met. This time, though, there was a distinct twinkle in his eye.</p>
<p>“Orders very efficiently carried out, Mr. Harper. Well done. You have permission. Only ...” he paused to let a broad grin spread across his face, “you and your prisoner will travel one hundred feet downwind at all times!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>
<a id="_Toc64850258" name="_Toc64850258"></a>5</h1><p>Actually their return was not quite as simple as Mort’s order suggested.</p><p>First they had to retrieve the gang’s ill-gotten gains from the cabin, which involved a careful search to make sure nothing had been concealed. Fortunately there were few hiding places and everything seemed to be contained in three saddlebags. But there was a certain amount of mess to clear up, resulting from the fight Jess had provoked with the man called Ross.</p><p>As to why the fight had occurred, Jess explained simply, “Had t’ get them outside somehow after they’d finished tellin’ me all about their schemes. Seemed like flirtin’ with Evangeline was the best way. Ross never could stand another man round her - he knows she ain’t no angel!”</p><p>“So they actually told you what they’d been doing?”</p><p>Jess nodded. “Yeah. Thought I’d just fall in with it.” He sounded as though such judgement was a bitter taste in his mouth and something foul, fouler than the bog, on his hands.</p><p>“So you can witness against them.”</p><p>“Sure. I’ll do whatever y’ need.”</p><p>Before they set out Jess and the second man had managed to wash off most of the evil-smelling mud decorating them. This effort served to make already wet clothes cling to Jess in an even more provocative manner, had any of the company been in the position or mood to be provoked. Mort simply insisted on checking whether the derringer bullet had hit Jess. His timely dive meant it had merely made a shallow graze and torn a rip in the sleeve of his shirt. Jess was philosophical about this.</p><p>“Ain’t nothing. Joney’ll just get mad because that’s another shirt gotta be darned.” The shirt was in fact already well decorated with mends large and small and Jess had not been kidding when he said it had holes in it. He was pleased the bullet had failed to lodge in his arm, but not because he had avoided the pain. “Glad Slim don’t have to face me comin’ back again with another bullet in me.”</p><p>Musing on this statement as they rode towards Laramie, Mort came to the conclusion that the relationship between the two young men was not simply that of employer and hired hand, as Jess had seemed to imply back at the relay station. Andy had said Jess lived as part of the family. Mort knew the standards Matt Sherman’s family would expect, since they accorded with his own. He went over in his mind what he had learnt so far about the young Texan: his physical confidence and prowess with a gun, his sensitivity to the needs of a young boy, the first aid and care he had taken of Mort himself, his responsibility, his willingness to act as a friend to Mort’s need even when they were still strangers, his keen observation and tracking skills, his quick reactions, above all his willingness to fight for justice and to choose the right side of the law. It seemed Jonesy was right: this was a young man who would not let you down. Mort nodded to himself in satisfaction.</p><p>Mindful of two escape attempts already, they had bound their prisoners tightly, which meant they were having to lead two horses each and progress was naturally fairly slow. Eventually, however, they pulled up in front of the Sheriff’s office in Laramie. They left the gang still tied up on their horses which they hitched to the rail before entering. Rob Bartlett was behind his desk, wrestling with the inevitable paperwork which attended the successful carrying out of his job. He looked up hopefully when Jess and Mort walked in.</p><p>“Jess, good to see you again. Did you and Slim get that finder’s fee all right?”</p><p>“Yeah, thanks. Captain Reeves was as good as his word. Rob, this is Sheriff Mortimer Cory from Colorado. He’s got some more business for you.”</p><p>“Sheriff Cory?” Bartlett said sharply. “I’ve had several telegrams about you.”</p><p>“You have?” Mort was puzzled.</p><p>“Yeah. And there was an interesting report too.” Bartlett reached across his desk and took up a newspaper. He turned back the front page and pointed to a picture. It was Mort handing over the brooch to its rightful owner.</p><p>Mort and Jess exchanged enlightened glances. Now it was obvious why he’d been jumped.</p><p>“Seems you’ve been on the track of a gang of swindlers?” Bartlett continued. “The evidence you’ve gathered has stirred up a regular hornets’ nest of cases and caught the attention of several sheriffs who are very interested in your success.”</p><p>“He sure succeeded!” Jess sounded full of pride on Mort’s behalf.</p><p>“With some able assistance,” Mort corrected with no little pride in his own tone.</p><p>“If you were after lawbreakers with Jess as a guide, I’m not surprised,” Bartlett said.</p><p>Jess’s eyes dropped, looking sideways, and he gave a little shrug. He said nothing.</p><p>“Got the gang outside, trussed up and waiting to be put in cells,” Mort told Bartlett. “Might you have room?”</p><p>“Sure have,” Bartlett grinned. “Let’s get ‘em in!”</p><p>Once the prisoners were safely locked up, Jess excused himself on the grounds that he would be expected back at the relay station as soon as possible. “I guess y’ missed the dinner I invited y’ to,” he said to Mort, “but I reckon the invitation still stands – anytime. You know Slim an’ Jonesy an’ Andy’ll be right glad t’ welcome you.”</p><p>“Thank you, Jess. I’ll be sure to get out and see them as soon as I can,” Mort told him. As he watched the young man disappear down the street, he wondered if this one too would be glad to see him again.</p><p>He did not get a chance to put this to the test for some time. Processing the prisoners took the rest of the day and the next he and Bartlett were busy, with the minister’s help, collecting evidence of ‘Mrs Shawcross’s activities in Laramie. Then came the complex business of returning money and valuables to their rightful owners. And after that they left the minister to his pastoral duties of soothing the storm of questions and recriminations raised in not a few marriages.</p><p>The first stage into Laramie the day after Mort and Jess had returned, however, brought a letter of invitation from the relay station expressing the wish that ‘<em>it is my hope, since you are a</em> <em>close friend and companion of our parents and a respected captain in my own regiment, that you will consider this ranch, which you helped to establish, as your own home and one which you are most welcome visit at any time and where you may remain living as a member of my family for as long as you wish</em>.’ It was signed with the full name ‘<em>Matthew John Sherman’.  </em>Mort smiled a little at the formal style of this but understood Slim’s wish to be respectful. He had never actually had this particular young man under his command, but Mort was, nonetheless, a superior officer.</p><p>He smiled again when he saw, scribbled hastily on the back of the sheet of paper another invitation: ‘<em>Please come! Jonesy misses you so much already and it isn’t fair to make him wait again after so many years. And I’d like to talk about animals with you, if you don’t mind? Andy.’</em></p><p>There was no indication of what Jess thought, but this was only to be expected. As an employee at the ranch, even one who was accepted as part of the family, he would be seconding invitations rather than issuing them.</p><p>It was the best part of a week before Mort could respond or take up the offered hospitality. Arrangements were being made to transfer the prisoners back to Denver, where witnesses from a number of towns would be gathered, so he had to wait until these were completed. Where better to spend the time than with friends? In any case he had to bring Jess back into town to swear an affidavit concerning what he had been told by the gang in the cabin. Accordingly, he sent word by the morning stage that he would join them later in the day.</p><p>His arrival was greeted once more by a delighted Jonesy, who explained as they were stabling his horse, “Slim said t’ say welcome for him. He should be back any time now.”</p><p>“Work doesn’t stop just because I’m arriving,” Mort agreed reasonably.</p><p>“Yeah, but with three o’ them it shouldn’t take long t’ move the horse herd. We’ll have some coffee while we’re waitin’.”</p><p>“Andy’s gone with them?”</p><p>A happy smile shone from Jonesy’s face. “Jess somehow convinced Slim it was time t’include Andy in men’s work. Done the boy a power o’ good, like I said before.”</p><p>“Slim’s protective?” When Jonesy nodded, Mort said. “Can’t blame him. Not after all the others who didn’t make it.”</p><p>Jonesy nodded again, sombre for a moment. They sat quietly on the porch together, sipping their coffee and remembering their long friendship with Matt and Mary Sherman. It did not seem possible man and wife, contemporaries of Mort, were gone so soon and that Jonesy, who was so much older, should have survived them.</p><p>After a while they could see a dust cloud coming over the rise at the top of the hill paddock. Swiftly as it moved towards them, they could see tossing heads and flying manes and tails – a sizable herd and more than could be used on the ranch, so presumably some were intended to be sold on.</p><p>“Reckon we might make some money out of ‘em now we got Jess,” Jonesy said thoughtfully. “He’s got a magic touch with horses. They actually seem t’ like him!”</p><p>Mort grinned. “They still kicking and biting you, Jonesy?”</p><p>“Too right. Every other four-footed creature gets on well with me, but even Jess ain’t been able t’ tame one o’ those varmints t’ like me! Why, the one I was brushin’ when he first arrived here darn’ well reared up at me an’ he had to catch it an’ calm it down.”</p><p>Mort shook his head, remembering his old friend’s trials on the cattle drives he and Matt had undertaken. It was something of a miracle that he had lived to an old age.</p><p>The ‘varmints’ in question had slowed down as they approached the bottom of the paddock and were milling restlessly. The three riders were obviously going to separate out some of the stock, but Mort noticed the two older men were hanging on the outskirts of the herd, allowing Andy to try his hand at cutting out the right ones and driving them through into the paddock closest to the corral.</p><p>Presently the herd settled and the job was done satisfactorily, even if it did take a while longer due to Andy’s relative inexperience. The three riders came through the corral and dismounted, Slim tossing his reins to Jess, who led both horses into the barn. Andy followed with his own mount, after a cheery wave to Mort, but Slim as host came straight over to greet him.</p><p>“Captain Cory, good to see you again, sir.”</p><p>“It’s plain Sheriff now – and Mort to you!” He stood up and shook hands vigorously. Slim had matured since joining the regiment as a rather gangling and naive youngster and was now grown into his full height – broad, muscular and powerful, with a serious confidence which came from both experience and responsibility.</p><p>Now he smiled. “Thank you. That’s a privilege! Will you excuse me for a while, Mort? We still have to see to the horses and the night chores.”</p><p>As he turned to go, Andy appeared from the barn and raced over to them. “Hello, Mr. Cory!” he smiled enthusiastically, then told his brother. “Jess says he’ll see to our horses as well as Traveller and do the barn chores, so we can get on with the rest of the work.”</p><p>Slim grinned. “As if I didn’t know he prefers any amount of horse-work to chasing chickens! Okay, Andy, you deal with your menagerie. I’ll take care of the other chores.”</p><p>“Sure, Slim. Mr. Cory, would you like to see my animals?”</p><p>“I’d be delighted,” Mort told him sincerely. “Help me stow my gear in the bunkhouse and then I’ll help you, if you show me what’s needed.” So the next half an hour was spent watering and feeding Andy’s motley collection of stray and injured animals and birds. When they got back to the porch, Jonesy had disappeared into the kitchen and Slim had washed, changed his shirt and was now relaxing in one of the rocking chairs.</p><p>“Have a grandstand seat!” he invited, waving a hand to the other chair.</p><p>“He ain’t!” Jonesy expostulated from somewhere behind them.</p><p>“He is!” Slim affirmed with a grin and a certain amount of pride showing in his voice.</p><p>“Fool boy!” Jonesy said crossly. “He came off that animal four times this mornin’ while you two were haulin’ the wood.”</p><p>“What did you say about ‘<em>once he makes up his mind he’s gonna stick to it’</em>?”</p><p>“No, you said that!” Jonesy retorted.</p><p>Mort was listening, slightly mystified, but recognising the truth of this account of Jess’s character. Andy joined in with some clarification. “You mean Jess is gonna try to break that spotted mustang again?”</p><p>“If it don’t break him first,” Jonesy answered gloomily.</p><p>Looking over to the corral, Mort could see the horse hitched firmly to the rail. Jess did not seem to be doing much, just moving slowly round it, running his hands over every inch of the freckled hide.</p><p>“He’ll be muttering,” Andy explained sagely.</p><p>“Muttering?”</p><p>“Yeah. Slim says he talks horse.”</p><p>“Whatever he talks, it seems to work,” Slim pointed out. “We’ve all seen how much calmer the animals are around him.”</p><p>“ ‘Cept that one!” Jonesy sounded resigned. “Why’s he so keen on it, anyway?”</p><p>“I said he could keep it if he could keep a saddle on it and stay in it,” Slim grinned. “He needs a second string.”</p><p>Jonesy fixed him with a glare. “You encouragin’ him? I though y’ knew better.”</p><p>Slim chuckled. “You want me to risk my neck telling him he <em>can’</em>t break a horse? Have a heart, Jonesy!”</p><p>Activity from the corral interrupted this illuminating exchange. Mort was beginning to understand that the dynamics of the household were rather different to his assumptions, but he was a wise man and always willing to learn. Particularly any tips he could gain from how this Texan drifter handled horses. Not that Mort was thinking of trying to stay on a bucking half-broken mustang. He was content to leave such activity to the younger men but it would be educational to watch!</p><p>Jess meanwhile had very quietly and gently slid the saddle on to his potential mount. He waited for several minutes before tightening the cinch. The horse snorted and threw up its head. Jess went back to what Andy designated his ‘horse muttering’. After a while he untied the mustang, but instead of hopping straight into the saddle, he turned his back on the horse and began to lead it slowly round the corral. When they’d made a few circuits, he reversed direction and they went round some more.</p><p>The audience watched, baffled.</p><p>Jess and the horse halted in the middle of the corral. Jess seemed to be addressing the animal. “You ready now?”</p><p>He moved to the side, hopped up to the stirrup and swiftly into the saddle, although he was careful to land lightly.</p><p>There was an explosion of furious movement.</p><p>A cloud of dust.</p><p>A resounding thump.</p><p>The dust settled. The mustang stood, head lowered facing Jess, as if he was enquiring what had happened to his rider. Jess got to his feet and picked up the reins. The horse made no attempt to resist him. The pair walked their circles together again.</p><p>“Ready now?”</p><p>Explosion. Dust. Thump. Walk.</p><p>“Ready again?”</p><p>When Jess hit the ground for the third time, Jonesy poked Slim in the ribs and demanded, “Ain’t y’ at least gonna help him up?”</p><p>“Jonesy! Are you talking about Mr ‘<em>I like to be my own boss’</em> Harper? Do-it-by-yourself is practically his middle name.”</p><p>“Just reckon it’d be friendly,” Jonesy hinted not very subtly.</p><p>Slim shook his head. “A friend doesn’t interfere in matters of pride. If he wins that horse, he’ll have earnt it. On his own account.”</p><p>Jess himself certainly seemed to be no way deterred by the falls. He simply patiently spoke to the horse, walked it round the corral and remounted. It was in the seventh battle that things suddenly changed. Jess stuck on for far longer. The horse bucked, twisted, reared and swerved, tried every trick known to equines but his rider was unshakable. The spectators could hardly see the outcome for the mighty storm of dust raised.</p><p>When it settled, the spotted mustang was walking calmly round the corral. Jess was still in the saddle.</p><p>Andy let out a whoop of delight. The others greeted this triumph with a mixture of laughter and applause.</p><p>The horse flicked an ear in their direction but remained calm. Jess ignored them all. He rode over to the rail, dismounted and hitched the animal once more. He removed the saddle carefully and slowly. He gave the dusty coat a swift brushing. He was almost certainly still muttering all the while.</p><p>Seeing these attentions were almost complete, Slim got up and strolled down to the corral. He leaned over the fence, taking care not to spook the horse, and extended a hand to Jess.</p><p>“You’ve got a deal!”</p><p>“Thanks!”</p><p>They exchanged a hand clasp. Jess untied the horse. Slim opened the gate. Jess took his mount over to the water trough and, once it had drunk, led it into the barn. Slim followed. Andy leapt up and raced after them, eager to congratulate his hero. Presently they all emerged again.</p><p>Jonesy got to his feet, saying as he did so, “Best get the food on the table – he’s gonna be starvin’ after all that ridin’!”</p><p>Jess greeted Mort politely. Then he pulled off his shirt and took a quick wash under the pump, before heading indoors apparently in search of another garment. This procedure had Slim and Andy chuckling. Evidently shirts were not Jess’s strong suit.</p><p>Shortly after they were all seated round the table enjoying the very best that the vegetable garden, their own beef and Jonesy’s cooking could provide. It was some time before anyone did anything with their mouth but eat and their tongue but savour.</p><p>“Thank you, Jonesy!” Mort pushed away his empty plate with a satisfied sigh. Around him the young were still on second and, in the case of Jess Harper third, helpings but he himself had eaten plenty. He waited until there was space between Jess swallowing and refilling his fork, then said, “Congratulations! That was quite a ride.”</p><p>Jess gave the customary shrug and sidelong glance, but simply responded: “The horse is worth it.”</p><p>“But tell me if I’m wrong,” Mort continued, “I reckon you were letting him throw you right up to the end.”</p><p>Jess’s head went up and his hand stopped with his fork poised in mid-air. “What makes y‘ think that?”</p><p>“Two things,” Mort told him, aware that the others round the table were looking at him in surprise. “You took time making sure the horse knew you were the boss in lots of other little ways. And each ride, you stuck on a little longer. When you did finally ride to a standstill, it was still bucking just as hard as the other times it shook you loose.”</p><p>Jess smiled appreciatively. “Y’ right.”</p><p>“Why, Jess?” Andy burst out with the question they all wanted to ask. “Why deliberately fall off?”</p><p>Jess put his fork down, the third helping unfinished. He leaned back in this chair and explained: “Horse like that, he’s a free spirit. Y’ can just stick on till y’ break him, till he gives in from exhaustion an’ can’t buck any more – that’s what most’d do – it’s a battle with a winner an’ a loser. Or y’ can make him realise y’ can work together. He can buck as much as he likes - it don’t alter the outcome. Y’ just keep takin’ him around with y’, then gettin’ back on. After a while, he realises buckin’ ain’t gonna get rid of y’. Then y’ decide t’ stick on t’ the end. He’s gonna carry y’ then, but he’s had his protest an’ kept his spirit. It’s worth hittin’ the ground more’n usual for some horses. A very few. It was with this ‘un.”</p><p>“Free spirit!” Andy’s eyes were glowing with enthusiasm as his imagination was fired by his affinity for animals. “What are you gonna call him, Jess?”</p><p>Jess’s brow creased and his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He deliberated before saying with an absolutely straight face: “Spot?”</p><p>“Jess!” Andy yelled in indignation, before realising he was being teased.</p><p>“You’re right, Andy,” Slim contributed. “The horse should have a name which reflects his nature. Ornery. Stubborn. Independent. Like his owner!”</p><p>“Free. Like the wind,” Andy insisted.</p><p>“Zephyr’s a name for the wind,” Mort suggested.</p><p>Jess shook his head. “Too easily confused with Zig.” Seeing Mort was puzzled, he explained, “My horse is called Reiziger – Zig for short.”</p><p>“Traveller,” Andy insisted, momentarily diverted. “That’s what it means in English.”</p><p>“Okay,” Mort agreed good-humouredly. “How about Sirocco? It’s a wind too.”</p><p>“Nice, but a bit soft for him?” Andy responded.</p><p>“Tornado?” Slim suggested with a grin. “He’ll probably tear holes in Jess sooner or later.”</p><p>Jess shook his head. “Not when he’s learned t’ work with me.”</p><p>Everyone scratched their heads mentally.</p><p>“Whirlwind?”</p><p>“Too violent, same as Tornado.”</p><p>“Typhoon – no, y’ only get those at sea,” Jonesy contributed.</p><p>“Storm?”</p><p>“He ain’t gonna be stormin’ any more.”</p><p>“Breeze?”</p><p>“Too light ‘n airy.”</p><p>“Cloud?”</p><p>“They get pushed around. Ain’t no-one gonna push that fella.”</p><p>“Just like his owner,” Slim repeated with a grin.</p><p>“Twister? He certainly tried some on you,” Jonesy pointed out.</p><p>Jess shook his head again. “He needs a name that’s got somethin’ positive to it, powerful but not just harkin’ back t’ what he was when he was wild.”</p><p>This statement brought a little smile to Jonesy’s face – like mount, like man!</p><p>Everyone was quiet, thinking hard.</p><p>Suddenly Slim laughed. “Darn’d if I know why I didn’t think of it before! How about the wind which affects this territory? The Chinook. Unpredictable, full of surprises, but it can make a huge difference to what life is like.”</p><p>“Chinook?”</p><p>Andy and Jess looked at each other. They both nodded.</p><p>“Chinook he is!”</p><p>This settled, they cleared away the meal, Andy was excused his schoolwork for once and everyone went back out to sit on the porch for a while. Jonesy and Mort got the rocking chairs, Slim brought out his desk chair, Andy made a pile of the couch cushions and Jess settled down on the steps. The air was warm and very still, the sky clear deep blue-black and scattered with a thousand stars. Quiet enfolded them all, as it does those who are close enough in spirit not to need to talk.</p><p>Presently Jess rose fluidly to his feet. “I’m gonna put the spotted wind horse in the corral overnight.”</p><p>“Chinook!” Andy reminded him.</p><p>“Yeah, I’ll see how he answers to it,” Jess agreed.</p><p>He strolled over to the barn and a few minutes later returned with the horse beside him. He opened the corral gate and let it in, then went back to the barn and brought an armful of hay which he tossed over the rail.</p><p>His task completed, Jess leaned on the fence, watching the horse, who was having a good roll in the dust. He lit a cigarette and stood quietly smoking, his attention partly on the horse, partly on the horizon and, beyond that, the starry heavens.</p><p>After a while, Slim sent Andy off to bed despite his predictable protests. Tactfully, he made shift to let Mort and Jonesy talk together, for he knew they would have many thoughts and memories to share from their long friendship.</p><p>He got up and wandered over to join Jess. The murmur of their voices drifted back to the watchers on the porch, but the words were indistinguishable. Whatever they were talking about, there was a certain amount of humour and teasing going on.</p><p>Jess stubbed out his cigarette and took a mock swipe at Slim.</p><p>Slim ducked and swiftly retaliated by hooking a restraining arm round Jess’s throat.</p><p>Jess threw up his hands as if in surrender.</p><p>Slim released his hold but kept an arm round Jess’s shoulders as they leaned together on the fence in the starlight, still and silent.</p><p>The same quiet was shared by the two old friends observing the young men from the porch.</p><p>“Jess did a fine job of helping me in my need,” Mort observed. “Slim’s lucky to have such a friend. True friendship is beyond price.”</p><p>“Yeah, an’ rarer than a white crow,” Jonesy agreed. “It don’t come easy either, we both know that, but ... they’re workin’ on it!”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>This story is based characters from the '<em>Laramie</em>' series and the creative inspiration of the original authors, producers and actors is respectfully acknowledged.</p><p>It is part of an m/m series of stories, <em>Partners</em>, as indicated in the Archive Warnings and is intended for those who like this imaginative interpretation. The stories are strictly about fictional characters and not intended to reflect on the original actors.</p><p>"The mills of God ..."  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (“Retribution”, Poetic Aphorisms, 1846)</p>
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